


Raw, Bleeding Bait

by writtendlessly



Category: Minecraft Youtubers, Team Crafted
Genre: Angst, BajanCanadian - Freeform, Implied Mitch/Other Male, Lapslock sorry, M/M, NoochM, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:25:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtendlessly/pseuds/writtendlessly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mathew was never an artist, but the young boy with bright eyes painted his entire world and he only ever noticed the beauty when it was gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raw, Bleeding Bait

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Brand New's Luca: "So drop me a line with a hook and some raw bleeding bait, For I am uncaught and still swimming alone in the lake"

i. life before mitch was sepia tones. blurred around the edges, frayed at the corners; life was sitting at the back of the class and spending summers in the artificial chill of complete solitude.

hues of wanting and why won't they call me back and picked last in gym class. life before mitch was heat with no warmth, nostalgia with no memories. a boy with a touque pulled over his eyes walks his dog and makes friends with crushed leaves. by the next morning, snow blankets everything.

 

ii. "you're really an asshole sometimes," they tell him. the tone is joking and casual, but he knows how words change when he isn't around to hear.

he's the +1 they're obligated to endure, biting words falling from his lips because he's too slow to catch them, spilling across their laps unannounced.

when no one is around to collect them, they leave blood red stains.

 

iii. they first meet at an amusement park, brought together by a mutual friend. mat thinks if anything describes mitch, it's the twists and turns of the roller coasters they stand underneath, wide eyes looking up towards the sky. the others don't notice he's looking farther above, tracing pictures through clouds. mitch pushes him when he's not paying attention, and mat falls, falls, eyes still locked on the brown hues of the sky above him.

a hand obstructs his view, an offering of friendship, and when mat grabs on he's lifted back to his feet and up into the air. mat wonders if mitch can tell he's floating, if he realizes that mat has never seen the blue of the sky before this day.

mitch is unexpected turns and anticipated drops, mitch is spinning until you're nauseous, running until you can't breathe, driving until you crash. mat wanders the park behind him, the tug of mitch's voice like a string to a balloon. mat is blinded by the world around him, full technicolor so overwhelming that he can only make out mitch's form in the rush of it all.

 

iv. mitch is soft where mat is rough. mitch is bright where mat is dark. mitch is late night bonfires and whispering over morning coffee, and mat is speeding down highways and fucking in back alleys. mat wants to warn him, but his sharp edges are so deadly he can't get close enough without spilling blood. mat has always been sepia, but mitch lets his colors bleed like watercolors and soon mat sees neon pink and blue the color of oceans.

mat allows himself to be greedy and indulge in the intensity, unaware of the way flames lick at his fingertips and leave nothing but ash in their wake.

 

v. "i didn't know how to be nice before i met you."

mitch laughs.

 

vi. mat stays over one night and when he wakes, mitch is sitting on his couch and folding laundry. stray beams of sunlight cross over his face and it's all so typically mitch that mat finds it hard to breathe.

mitch teaches him the best way to fold t-shirts that day, fingers brushing by accident and words exchanged in voices too soft to convey any truth. when they're done, mitch laughs, thanks mat for folding half of his laundry for him. mitch smiles like he knows a secret and mat lets him have his victory. he wants to say, "it doesn't matter what we do, as long as it's us" but it comes out more like "fuck off, asshole", mat's inky black stains marring the surface.

now, when mat tries to fold his own clothes, his hands shake so much he can't hold the fabric.

 

vii. in another universe, mat settles down with a wife and kids.

in another universe, mat discovers the cure for the common cold.

in another universe, mitch is next to him in programming class, dreams of making videos nothing but a glimmer in their eyes.

in another universe, it's mat instead. mitch is valedictorian, graduates with two degrees, makes a 6 figure salary. mat's power gets shut off and he can't make videos anymore. when mat needs someone to move in with, he never thinks of mitch.

in another universe, mat finds the time, makes the right friends. mat stands next to him on red carpets and behind convention tables. pinkies brush in group photos and they grow so big, so fast, but in opposite directions.

 

viii. life after mitch is monochrome. 

mitch spreads light where he goes, paths of blinding white marking his trips across the globe like a spider's web.

mat's dark consumes him entirely, blackens everything he touches. anyone who comes near is blinded instantly, walking unknowingly into their death. when the third soul comes back singed and cracked from the lashings, they stop sending soldiers entirely. 

they're heaven and hell, sun and moon. one cannot exist without the other but they'll never occupy the same space. they'll never know what it's like, fingers brushing and breaths mingled. the moon is nothing but a reflection of the sun, it knows no loyalty to the earth it shines upon. friends and family simply pebbles in the tides it creates.

hell exists only as a trash bin for heaven. mat was always dark so mitch could be light, but what mat thought was the night sky to stars was really freckles on smooth, pale skin. 

mat never believed in heaven, anyway.

 

ix. it never snows in los angeles, but it rains.

mat holds his tongue out on winter days, hopes that some drops of water have touched mitch’s skin, caressed him more gentle than mat ever allowed himself to.

the relationship is announced on a thursday. mat deletes them both from every website and tries to relearn how to breathe. it’s easier to pretend he hates them for who they are than admit defeat in a battle he never fought in.

mutual acquaintances are eager for the excuse to not return his calls. rocks fall around him and mat is blindly stumbling around a minefield, ashes clinging to his skin. no one can recognize him with a shroud so heavy; he wraps himself in solitude and good intentions.

falling in love was exactly what the movies made it out to be. it was sneaking out at midnight and secrets whispered on rooftops and car hood picnics and drunken hands always missing their mark. 

but it’s the solitude, the desolate wastelands of free time and lack of self-control, that really gets you. the pressure crushes your bones, forces you into a form so small and compacted, places you on a shelf next to the jar of lost souls.

mitch was never one for metaphors and symbolism. but there’s no way to say “i miss the way you smiled like you shared a secret with the stars” without it sounding like drunken 3am phone calls. dial tone. this number is not in service.

 

x. “man, what would you do without me?” 

“i’d wait.”


End file.
